


Vigils

by onlyfarai



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Multi, the non-canon arch we deserve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-24 13:31:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6155249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyfarai/pseuds/onlyfarai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Can anyone in this room honestly say, that they have never thought less of someone incapable of wielding magic? Never felt they needed protecting? That they were helpless?"</p><p>When civil unrest erupts in the kingdom of Fiore, all roads lead to anti-magic group, Void Warlock, as the culprit. But when Fairy Tail begins to suspect foul play by an unknown third party, they find themselves on the cusp of unlocking the ultimate secret of magic: its origin. (Canon Divergence)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Zero Hour

**Author's Note:**

> *Each chapter will begin with a passage from 'The Void Writ', a 'book' that will be more important as the story goes on...

CHAPTER ONE

ZERO HOUR

* * *

The Void Writ*

* * *

"Self-deception and narcissism are the inborn traits of the Wizard.

His views, of himself and his entire being, are fanciful as if his eyes have been replaced with a kaleidoscope. Easily distracted by the majesty and wonder he controls, he fails to grasp reality. He becomes so enraptured by the bright colors of his own perceived glory that he fails to see the picture in its entirety. And once he takes notice of that picture, he sets out to destroy it, to change it and to bend it to his will. To deceive those around him, so that he may continue to deceive himself."

Page 129

* * *

The initial lull in conversation had been more from surprise than any apprehension.

A handful of Fairy Tail wizards were off on jobs so the remaining guild members had expected to have their rare moment of tranquility interrupted sooner or later.

Natsu and Happy had dragged an unenthusiastic Lucy towards the guild doors less than a week ago claiming to be going on a job in a merchant town and last anyone had seen of the trio, Natsu had been green faced and trailing slowly behind Lucy and Happy as they made their way to the train station.

While a love-struck Juvia had dragged an apathetic Grey across the guild floor only two days later heading towards a resort near the coast. Juvia had claimed that the entire trip was actually a romantic getaway for her and her beloved, while Grey had informed those of the guild not wrapped up in Juvia's active imagination that the town had been under attack by some strange sea creatures and had specifically asked for wizards who worked with water and ice to help solve their problem.

Cana and Lisanna, unlikely pair though they be, had left around the same time claiming to be heading to Hargeon―although a recent issue of Sorcerer Weekly had suggested the twosome had made a detour in the direction of the Quatro Cerberus guild, much to Mirajane's amusement and Elfman's horror.

On Master's order, Erza had tagged along with Laxus and the Thunder Legion on a particularly difficult S-Class quest that involved monsters or dark wizards or something of that sort. Which would have been completely fine, if not for the fact that Evergreen and Erza―mostly Evergreen―weren't opposed to one or twelve impromptu sparring matches regardless of the proximity of their males teammates. Which lead to many injuries on Bickslow and Freed's part and a whole lot of annoyance from Laxus.

Not to mention, Master had been summoned to appear before the Magic Council two days ago for some undisclosed reason― though the entirety of the guild speculated that it had something to do with the Gildart-shaped hole that had appeared in the center of the Crocus Royal Gardens.

So really, it was only a matter of time before one of them returned home.

That was why when the guild doors had opened on that morning, they all just assumed that one of their comrades would step through. And upon realizing that that was not the case they had been virtually unaffected, the sounds of laughter and conversation once again filling the guild hall with so much enthusiasm that it seemed they had never been interrupted to begin with. Many of them were, in fact, thankful not to have been met with a sudden onslaught of fire or ice or swords.

Or a combination of all three.

In hindsight, there had clearly been something off about the black-haired man, which went beyond his unexplained appearance in the guild.

As he stood rigidly with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his straight-legged trousers listening to the mundane sounds of the bustling guild hall with deep fascination, the scent of brimstone, acrid and noxious, replaced the usual earthy aroma of the room causing Gajeel to let out a loud short sneeze.

He groaned, rough hands reaching up to swipe at his nose.

The scent was subtle―as if someone had set a miniature fire just underneath his nose. Or like that time when Salamander had belched directly in his face and he'd been followed around by the godforsaken smell of soot for an entire week.

Either way he concluded, glancing briefly at his unsuspecting guild mates that the scent could only be detected by the hypersensitive nose of a dragonslayer. And as the lone dragonslayer in the guild that morning, Gajeel had suffered the slight dripping of his nose and the consequential look of disgust from Levy, alone.

Figures.

Momentarily ignoring his slight agitation―but not entirely forgoing it as he made mental plans to nail Natsu to the nearest wall as soon as he returned―Gajeel decided that the smell was a bad omen.

Hell. Eternal damnation. Lakes of Fire.

He'd overheard enough conversations between Levy and Lucy to understand the significance of brimstone, at least in terms of literature, and everything he did know told him that the guy who'd just stepped in was definitely trouble. So as he chewed on some scrap metal, ignoring the look of concern from the bookworm, his eyes stayed locked on the weirdo. Daring him to make a move he didn't like. Besides without the usual suspects to rough up he was starting to get rusty.

But while the change in scent required the nose of a dragonslayer, the change in the soft natural buzz of magic energy was a sensation, or lack thereof, that even the least observant of the guild took note of.

It was as if all the energy in the room had decided to flee the moment his leather boots hit the guild floor. Like his very presence had stopped its natural flow throughout the guild, capturing and dispelling it.

In fact, no magic emanated from the tall, slender man at all.

There was no sign of the overwhelming pressure that they'd come to associate with threats. Not the lazy buzz of stagnant energy of non-wizards or even the faint vibrations of a lacrima phone.

There was just nothingness.

And even more unsettling was the fact that as he traveled from the threshold to the bar counter, the entire guild hall suddenly felt eerily still.

Mirajane, busy rinsing and maneuvering glasses gracefully behind the bar, had been the first to speak.

"Hello, sir." She'd smiled, the slight twinge of her lip the only tell of her discomfort. "How can we help you?"

He had made no move to respond to her, seemingly unaware of her presence all together. And had it not been for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he neared front of the guild, she would have been concerned.

His beady black eyes had been focused exclusively on the flag tacked on the back wall, hanging proudly and wafting softly in the slight breeze and Mira's had followed them.

The large banner of lavish burgundy had been part of the gift the people of Magnolia had bestowed to Fairy Tail after their victory at the Grand Magic Games. Master had been so taken aback by the gesture that he'd demanded the banner be hung on the back wall so all who walked into Fairy Tail would know the love the people of Magnolia had for them and the love they had for Magnolia in return. The golden symbol emblazoned in the center of the fabric of the Fairy Tail guild mark had been infused with protective magic by a powerful wizard in a nearby town similar to the spell cast on Tenrou Island. And while it was noticeably weaker than that placed on the Tenrou Tree by Mavis, only offering protection against robberies and smaller raids, the sentiment had been received with joyful tears and boisterous celebration. Everyone felt just a little bit safer as the symbol shimmered in the warm sunlight shining through the windows of the guild and painting the air a lazy, friendly yellow.

Mirajane placed a clean glass on the counter, her smile deepening with nostalgic glee.

The man's lips became mere slivers as he scowled and grumbled disapprovingly.

That was when it happened.

The subtle movement of surprisingly nimble fingers, faster than most eyes could follow, and the banner crumpled to the floor in a heap.

Mirajane's smile faltered.

The screeching of chairs being pushed against the floor sounded as the entire room stood, glaring angrily at the black-haired intruder.

Mirajane quickly moved from her spot behind the counter and stood before the guild, piercing blue eyes glued him.

There was nothing particularly startling about his appearance. He wore a dress shirt, tailored trousers, and loafers. All the same shade of black as his short, clean hair. He was almost generic, as if with the simple push of a button one could batch produce clones with little difficulty.

Ignoring the angry murmurs of her guild mates she spoke, firm and clear, the threat apparent in the sudden depth of her usually airy voice.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

He smirked, finally locking eyes with white-haired wizard.

"Well, well." Dark eyes shimmering with a wicked glint. "Even the heretics have manners. How intriguing."

"What do you mean by that?" She asked, fists clenching reflectively.

"I mean precisely what I say, my dear liliam." He said. His voice was cold and calculating, the polite air in his twang dripping with superiority. "It never ceases to astonish me how far you heathens are willing to go to deceive yourselves. Building your little guilds. Little families." He lifted his right hand and gestured lazily." Nothing more than an illusion. How could anyone mistake this...demon's nest for a home?"

He chuckled, darkly. "Though the very thought is contradictory. For what need does a demon have for family?"

Her fists clenched.

His analytical eyes followed the movement before trailed to the tips of her feet, and back up to her eyes. His lips turned up in an expression that was meant to be a grin, but was too wide, too dark to be described as one.

"It's you isn't it?" He said. "You are the one they call the 'she-devil', yes?"

Her left eye twitched.

"I suppose this is your nest then? What a find." He exclaimed, excitement causing the pitch his voice to oscillate wildly. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? You see, I've heard so much a―"

"What do you want?" Mirajane snapped.

He smirked.

"I guess you could say I'm officially on 'clean-up' duty. However," he extended the word as if he was about indulge her with a secret, "Personally? I suppose, I wish to quell my curiosity in the short time we have together."

Gajeel growled, indignantly, gloved fists slamming loudly on the table as he stood.

"You better wipe that damn smirk off your face, b'fore I do it for you." He spoke through gritted teeth, voice like cast iron. "What the hell did you mean by that?"

The man seemed to consider Gajeel's question, short hums of consideration escaping his lips, before he raised his left hand out of his pocket. Slowly, in an action that gathered the attention of the entire guild, he placed it over his heart and showcased what was presumably…

A guild mark?

Horrified gasps sounded throughout the guild hall.

It wasn't unusual to hear of the more...creative ways that dark or notoriously cruel guilds applied their emblem to their wizards.

Scarification, mutilation, mandatory piercings...eyeball tattoos.

Mirajane had, in her more rebellious days, even come across a guild who burned their emblem onto each member.

Branding them, young and old, like cattle to be worked till they outlive their use or till their owner decided it was time to put them down.

Their guild master, a pudgy man who had smelt of cheap cigars and sewage, had spewed some nonsense about how inflicting pain guaranteed loyalty. Parting his lips from the butt of his lit cigar to question how her loyalty could be absolute if she wasn't willing to bleed, to cry, to scream for her guild. He'd taunted her and her siblings, pointing at the white marks that adorned their small bodies...before he'd screamed.

His face turning pasty and fat droplets of sweat soaking into his dirty white beater as he'd called her a monster.

A demon.

All before begging her―the eldest Take-Over sibling, she without mercy, the She-Devil―to spare his life while he was squirming in the grasp of her Satan-Soul.

The stench of burning flesh had followed her into her dreams for nights after that particular mission, and even the thrashing that she's given their master had done very little to appease her restless mind. And still new to the concept of a family that wasn't bonded by blood, she'd become skeptical of the undeserved kindness that she'd found in her new home.

Maybe he had been right.

How could Master Makarov trust her? Knowing the darkness that lived within her, how could anyone ever blindly trust her again? Could she blame them if they demanded proof? Of her loyalty? Of her humanity? How could she convince anyone that she was to be trusted when she barely even understood the power within her?

Doubt had plagued her mind, fortifying the walls she had built and slowly driving her insane. She'd even gone as far as to demand that Elfman and Lisanna show her their own magically applied emblems daily for a full month. But eventually the images of ghostly figures holding her little brother and sister down, branding iron singeing pale skin, had faded.

Not even that compared to this.

Taking up the entirety of his hand was large, intricate circle made of interweaving blunt lines overlapped by two bisecting perpendicular lines. The design was simplistic, much like the branding she had seen, something quick and easy to replicate allowing for very little variation from person to person.

But…

Mira covered her mouth, shocked.

His hand looked like it had been hollowed out.

The lines of his emblem were rough and uneven, dipping into his flesh as if gouged out by a teaspoon. The edges of his mark were bright red, the pale skin appearing flaky and raw. Hyper-pigmentation was evident where the heated tool had made incisions surrounded by extensive scarring, similar to thousands of overlapping thin brown lines that contrasted sharply against his alabaster skin. His emblem had a strange patchy appearance from where his skin had attempted to mend itself surrounded by skin that was puffy, greenish and gruesome. Clearly infected.

And, Mira observed by the few drops of red trailing down his arm, definitely recent.

She would have expected the pain alone from a wound like that to be crippling, yet the man stood erect as if he was unaware of the mark he was carrying, or simply did not care. His stance was sturdy and to the trained eye his posture exemplary, no different than when he'd first entered but something was definitely different.

The condescending air that had accompanied his barrage of questions and insults had morphed into something more sinister, something dangerous. His intense focus, once so transparent in the pompous look in his eyes as he'd questioned her, was gone. Now milky, unfocused eyes stared at her as his expression became blank in a way that eerily reminded Mirajane of the dolls that Lisanna had played with as a child. As if the man before her had suddenly become nothing more than an adult sized doll.

A puppet.

And all with the uncovering of his emblem.

That was when the reflection of light caught her eye.

Liquid, flowing and ebbing, seemed to fill the lumen of his wounds painting it a deep onyx. It shimmered under the florescent lights of the guild, white light dancing on the black surface before being engulfed in the darkness. The liquid dripped down his arm, following the thin trail of blood, turning the bright red into a deep burgundy and congealing, almost solidifying, into thick stripes leading up to his forearm.

A malignant aura, like a luminescent smoke, seemed to radiate from within its depths, filling and spreading throughout the room.

Shivers echoed throughout the wizards as the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Even Mirajane, demon-blood pumping anxiously in her veins, shivered at the sight of it.

"Whether we be the weirder of the devil's tools or the devil, himself," His voice was cold, devoid of feeling. And his words a repetition of a strange mantra, coming out quick as though vigorously memorized." We all must face judgement."

The ghost of a memory teased her as unconscious recognition struck.

Gajeel, breaking out of the trance, stormed towards the intruder.

The barrier created by Mirajane's outstretched arm the only thing stopping the iron dragonslayer from pounding the weirdo into the ground.

"What the hell are you yappin' about?" He snarled, fists clenched and iron scales materializing rapidly from his fingertips to his elbow.

His frown deepened as he waited. "Answer me!"

"And that is why, my brethren, we will share this fate together."

With inhuman speed, he raised his marked hand above hand.

The popping of lacrima lights sounded as intense black light spread rapidly up the walls and floor up towards the ceiling, blanketing the guild in darkness.

Panic quickly erupted as shrill screams echoed throughout the guild halls. The darkness slithered rapidly, serpentine in its movement. Bright bursts of multicolour magic provided momentary light as wizards fired at tendrils of darkness striking various wizards with quick, heavy whipping motions and slithered up the legs of numerous others.

The screams of her comrades filled her ears as the beginning of her transformation warmed Mirajane's skin.

"Divine Judgement. Quia Mundare te!"

Mira pounced.

Gajeel lunged.

* * *

_"Mirajane! Gajeel!"_

_"They're not moving!"_

_"What is that? Is it-—is it spreading?!"_

_"Mira! Wake up, Mira!"_

_"No, Lisanna! Don't touch her!"_

_"Someone get Wendy! Quick!"_

_"What that hell is that—"_

_"Gajeel! Please, Gajeel! Look at me!"_

_"It's all over Mirajane's arm!"_

_"What happened to that guy—oh. Oh no."_

_"They're not...they're not breathing, you guys!"_

_"Get them to the medical bay! Hurry!"_


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 

_ The Void Writ _

* * *

 

_ " _ He destroys our livelihood, and demands we call him a creator. He creates dens of debauchery, and deems himself pure. He stains the land in the blood of our loved ones, yet implores us to accept him.

He bleeds, he cries, and he dies.

Yet he insists that he is God. _ " _

_ Page 14 _

* * *

 

Sadness has a way of blossoming unexpectedly in one’s heart and growing and growing and  _ growing _ until it consumes you, bringing with it mournful tears and heartaches.

It was a feeling the Fairy Tail had experienced before. It had plagued them during the Phantom Lord incident, had spilt tears during the chaos caused by the Battle of Fairy Tail, and hardened hearts during the Grand Magic Games. But just as with all those previous times when its vines had gripped at the hearts of every wizard it always seemed infinite and indestructible, and this time was no different.

Buds of sadness had once again bloomed throughout the entirety of the guild.

Macao sighed, rubbing small circles on Cana’s upper back as the newly returned card wizard trembled sadly.

Cana, never the one to hide her emotions, cried with abandon.

Fat, pear-shaped droplets, tinted grey by her mascara, streamed down her face as sniffles escaped sporadically. Sorrow seemed to rip through her, causing her shoulders to tremble and breaking the powerful card wizard into pieces with the gentleness of an earthquake. Her sadness was only emphasised by her sobriety, she'd refused to touch a drop of alcohol for the last day and a half and honestly everyone was starting to worry. 

Most had attempted to cheer the brunette up by mixing and creating a number of beverage in the absence of their usual bubbly white-haired barmaid. Glasses filled with alcoholic of various colours―more shades of dirty green and brown than he was necessary comfortable with―and viscosities―how Wakaba had managed to make a Margarita stick to the counter was beyond him―were scattered in front of the brunette.  

She didn't drink a single one.

Macao sighed. Not that he could blame her.

There was something strangely comforting in her lack of concern for her appearance, despite how gross the mucus dripping was, and how deeply the fall of her comrades affected her and those in the guild. It reminded him of how cohesive their makeshift family really was, and how deeply their connection ran. That the pain felt by Mira and Gajeel was felt tenfold by their friends. Their shared sadness, deep and all-encompassing, was evidence of their strength. And it felt as though the strength of their emotions alone made them invincible and guaranteed that they would, once again, bounce back.

Cana snorted, as she pulled out of his embrace to turn towards the counter, bypassing the drink he had placed in front of her in favour of placing her forehead on the smooth surface before exhaling sharply.

He frowned.

But sadly, an accompanying benefit of being part of a guild where the lines between comrades and family were non-existent was the nasty habit of each wizard to blame themselves when something went  _ so very wrong _ .

It was evident as Elfman sat in the back corner, face down casted and shoulders trembling.

In Cana’s uncharacteristic sobriety and Lisanna’s refusal to leave the medical bay under any circumstance. 

In Roy, Jet, and the others continued search of the surrounding area. 

In his own need to reassure the younger members that everything was going to be alright, even if he couldn’t even believe himself ― in fact that was the very reason why when Cana had dropped to her knees after hearing the news, he’d picked her off the floor and hadn’t left her side.

But Macao knew his words of reassurance were running off just as easily as her tears.

Coming home to an attack on the guild and two seriously injured friends had been hard for both Lisanna and Cana. The former who had run to her sister’s side and the latter…

Macao sighed.

He couldn’t stop her blaming herself, wouldn’t dream of even trying, but he could remind her that no one else blamed her. That they were just glad that she was here now.

Several eyes widened as a low, feral growl escaped the Master’s lips.

At _ least he’s here now.  _ His eye’s caught Makarov’s retreating figure.  _ Poor guy. _

His presence, the familiar press of his enormous magical pressure, had been evident before he’d even stepped into the hall but a sigh of relief had echoed throughout the guild regardless. The sound of his footsteps, proud and strong, had been a pleasant change from the rapping of hammers and the occasional sniffle. Makarov’s arrival had breathed an air of  _ reassurance  _ into the guild.  He’d given them the kind of inspiration, the kind of  _ hope _ that only came from natural born leadership. Just by being here. His strength and focus as he walked to the guild, had even Cana and Elfman staring after the short man in awe. _ The 6 _ _ th _ _ guild master sure is something _ .

Cana’s eyes widened as Macao chuckled lightly, and he did nothing but place his hand back on her shoulder and offer her a reassuring squeeze.  She gave him a small hesitant smile, which he decided was too controlled and much too sober to measure up to her usual drunken smirk. 

But it would do for the time being.

His gaze, once again, shifted to the entrance of the guild. 

In the aftermath of the blast the entirety of the door had been blown clean off the hinges, and Reedus was in the process of painting a replacement, but the warm orange-pink hue of the early morning horizon was in clear view.   

Aside from Lisanna and Cana’s return, and now Makarov’s, no one else had made it back to the guild hall as of yet.

Warren had been able make contact with both Grey and Natsu’s teams, shortly after the attack, but he’d been completely unable to reach Erza or the Thunder Legion. And while they knew that the group was more than capable to deal with any threat, especially with two S-class wizards and the combined magical prowess of the Thunder Legion, they still worried.

They had been completely blind sighted by the attack, and if it hadn’t been for Mirajane and Gajeel’s quick thinking they may have all ended up…like…

He gulped, unable to continue down that train of thought long without the guilt settling like lead in his stomach.  _ Some ex-guild master I turned out to be, huh? Letting two kids throw themselves in harm’s way…god…and end up… _

As the back door slammed behind Master Makarov, all Macao could do was hope that the rest of the guild would return safely.

And  _ soon _ .

* * *

 

Upon hearing the news, Makarov had immediately left the council meeting.

Granted, he hadn’t parted with the council members, especially their new pretentious self-righteous dolt of a Head, on the best of terms. But that was to be expected. What with his hasty exit and apparent lack of respect for the governing system… but, honestly? 

_ To hell with the council. _

If those heartless legal types had the gall to suggest that he stay and finish a meeting that was really nothing more than a farce, than they deserved more than the choice words that he had left them with. His only regret was that Warren, through the same telepathic line by which he’d received the news, had been privy to the blatant disrespect that the council had showed their guild.

As he entered the guild hall, the wind whipped violently and the air, once stagnant and sad, was filled with an electric sort of rage. It threatened to overtake him as he noticed the familiar red material, now tattered and clumped on the floor.

His children had suffered, been humiliated and mocked and  _ broken _ , because he hadn't been here to protect them.

His fists tightened, his jaw clenched, and he began to tremble as anger, scorching and deadly, threatened to consume him.

Several eyes widened as a low, feral growl escaped his lips.

_ No _ . His focus had to be on them. Reaching his injured children.  _ They are all that matters right now. _

Other than the short outburst, he remained silent and serious. Moving across the smooth floor of the guild, with solid and sure steps. Not once did he falter. Not at the sadness painting the faces of his children. Not at the wreckage that filled the room. Not at the noticeable absence of a warm welcome or the sound of metal scrapping against teeth.

His magic vibrated around him, causing the ends of his cloak to billow harshly, an unusually sad tinge staining the normally luminescent ivory. The melancholy prevalent in the weight of his footsteps as Makarov made his way through the guild, unintentionally slammed the back door and slipped into the long passageway leading to the medical bay.

Sparks of vibrant amber trailed behind him, filling the silence with the cracking of energy and providing some visibility in the poorly lit passageway as he silently travelled down a wide corridor dotted with large identical white doors.

_ Strange _ , he thought.

A red tag, the symbol they used to differentiate between occupied medical rooms and their identical counterparts, was wrapped against the door to his right. ‘Number 3’ engraved into the oak, just as Warren had said. This was the door holding his kids, but…

Grey eyes trailed across the corridor.

Another door, identical to its sister in every way, except the phrase ‘Number 4’ engraved in the centre of it, also had a red tag wrapped around its brass knob. Confusion settled on Makarov’s face as he watch it wafting gently in the breeze.

His brows arched but before he could question it any further Door Number 3 opened.

Wendy’s frowning face greeted him as she opened the door, gripping its side nervously and avoiding eye contact.

The light in the room was almost blinding compare to the shadows consuming the hallway.

He frowned.

It was too white, too sanitary.

He’d protested including the medical bay in the redesigning of the guild hall after the Phantom Lord incident, claiming preparing for the worst would only welcome it. Mirajane had argued its importance with the full support of Team Shadow Gear and Erza―dawning a scandalous nurse’s outfit complete with a suspicious looking syringe― and needless to say, he had folded. He’d been slightly irritated to discover that in the newly restored guild hall, the townsfolk had completely revamped the once colourful medical room, filling it with sanitary whites and dull beiges. But Wendy, sweet and kind and always a little too quiet, had been quick to lift his spirits.  _ It doesn’t really matter what it looks like, does it Master? All that matters _ ―Wendy had said― _ is that our friends will always have somewhere, and someone― _ she’d blushed softly _ ― to patch them up _ . 

Altruism, he'd concluded, was a part her very being and who was he to deny the child a chance to put her natural ability to work? 

So he’d conceded, again, but stood by his point that it was strange to have such a bland room in a guild that was so vibrant, so energetic, and so full of life.

But now this room and this scared, sad little girl, were the only thing that had kept his two bruised and battered children alive.

“Hello, Mas―”

“How are they doing?” He interrupted, short legs crossing the threshold and entering the room. Lisanna was snoozing at the foot of one of the beds, snoring softly, a frown adorning her pretty face.

He’d always hated this room.

“They’re stable. But―” She hesitated, wringing her hands nervously and chewing on her bottom lip, before. “But they’re bodies have taken on some serious physical trauma. That spell really packed a serious punch.” She twisted slightly, pointing towards graphs and charts displayed on a lacrima screen.” But I was able to use my dragonslayer magic to stabilise them, so physically they should be back to tiptop shape in no time.”

He turned towards the two beds.

Gajeel and Mirajane were laying still on two medical beds, bruises and bandages littered on both of their bodies. Mirajane’s already alabaster skin had become pasty and had a slightly grey tint, causing the takeover mage to appear rather ghostly when compared to the white of her bed sheets. A handful of Gajeel’s iron piercings had been placed in a silver bowl resting atop a bedside table to make room for more wrappings and bandages around the dragonslayer’s head and biceps. And as the sun filtered into the room from the large window, it caused the discoloration of their skin and the fresh scaring adorning their bodies to be even more apparent. 

 

The slight rise and fall of their chest the only sound either emitted.  

His eyes watered, and a burning sensation encased his heart, as he spotted it.

Wrapped around Gajeel and Mirajane’s forearms were thick black stripes, pulsating like parasites and emitting dark energy into the pristine room.

He reached out his hand.

 

Warm air hit his hand, as Gajeel exhaled deeply.

“No!” Wendy exclaimed.

Makarov froze, hand suspended a hair length from the ebony mounds attached to Gajeel’s upper arm. Lisanna shifted slightly, snuggling up against Mira’s leg.

“Wendy,” Makarov’s voice was deep and grave.” What is this?”

“I’m sorry, Master. I’ve tried everything I could. I focused especially on those areas but―”

He interrupted.

“Don’t apologise, child.” His eyes softened as he looked at the young wizard.” It’s because of you that these two  _ idiots _ are still alive.” He offered her a small smile. “The entire guild is indebted to you.”

Wendy shook her head vigorously.

“No, no. If Romeo and I had been here…instead of going into town…maybe I could have done something. Maybe I could have helped.” A stray tear fell as she rambled. “Maybe I could have  _ done _ something.”

“This is not your fault. You couldn’t have known.” The words stung. “No one could have known.”

“But if I’d just gotten here a minute quick―”

“What you have done is invaluable. Do not blame yourself.” he said, solemnly.

Wendy sniffled, slightly. “Okay.”

“Now,” he gestured towards Gajeel’s arm.” What exactly is this?”

“I don’t know.” She replied, sadly.” Carla and I searched in all the medical books we have and Levy has been buried in Library books but…”

She turned back towards the lacrima screen. With the wave of her hand, the bright and colourful graphs were replaced by a continuously oscillating red line and a faint beeping sound.

“I’ve been monitoring their magic energy levels.” She pointed at a particularly low point of the graph. Makarov frowned. “At first it was seriously low, but that was to be expected. They both took on the brunt of that man’s spell.” Her pointer finger traced the line upwards, on a steady rise.” But then it seemed to rise as I started healing them.” She frowned as her finger surpassed what Makarov recognized to be the normal line. “But it didn’t stop. At first I wasn’t concerned because both Mira and Gajeel have large masses of magic energy, far exceeding the bounds for an ordinary Mage, but the rate at which it was increasing and the heights it reached…was worrying.” Her finger reached the apex of the graph…before rapidly crashing. “I did my best to stabilise their levels during their crashes till eventually the levels seemed to flocculating comfortably like you see now. But…”

His eyes snapped from the screen back to the sky dragonslayer.

“But what, Wendy?”

Her eyes turned to the floor as she spoke.

“This has been happening for  _ full day _ now. Flocculation of this magnitude is really hard on the body, even for mages as strong as these two. There is nothing more I can do, so it’s all down to them now…”

His eyes moved to them, Gajeel and Mirajane.

_ Tell me, children _ , he thought,  _ does a father who cannot protect his children still deserve to call himself by that name? _

His only response was the sound of their deep breathing and the noisy beeping filling the room.  _ Battered and bruised though they be, they were still breathing. _

“We cannot give up on them, Wendy.”

Her head snapped up, eyes ablaze with the passion and determination befitting her title of dragon slayer.

“I would never give up on them.” Her voice was firm. “I might not know how much of this their bodies can take, but I know Mira and Gajeel.” She looked over at them.” I know that they can fight anything anyone throws at them, so I know that their fighting tooth and nail.” She looked at him, a small smile gracing her face. “I’m not giving up on them. I know the reality of the situation, how bad it looks, but I refuse to accept they aren't doing everything they can to turn it around. That they don't get a say. Because I have faith in Fairy Tail, and I have faith in them. So I know that they’ll wake up soon.”

“Wow.”

Both Makarov and Wendy’s eyes widened as they looked over at Lisanna, misty eyed and sluggish.   

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to wake you, Lisanna. Or upset you!”

“I’m okay.” Lisanna reassured her, hands wiping at stray tears. “I’m just really glad that you’re here, Wendy. Thank you.”

She straightened, yawning slightly.

“And you too, Master. I’m glad you’re back and I’m sure Mira and Gajeel are too.”

Makarov smiled at the youngest Strauss sibling, but before he could return the greeting she interrupted.

“I have something I need to tell you both.” She started, seriously.” It’s about these markings on Gajeel and Mira’s arms.”

A moment passed and Wendy spoke up. “Lisanna?”

Lisanna took a deep breathe.

“I’ve seen them before,” she said. “A long time ago.”

Makarov moved before her. 

“Please continue.”  He pleaded.

“It was in our home village.” Lisanna paused. “But before I get into all that. I think you should bring Master Jose in here, Wendy.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you.


End file.
